Bad Blood
by Merisha
Summary: Dean gets violently ill after an encounter with a witch. Rated T for bad language. Breakfast reading for the awesome Lizard971.


**Bad Blood**

**Chapter 1**

**Synopsis:** Dean gets violently ill after an encounter with a witch.

This story (my 20th WOO HOO) is dedicated to the wonderful Lizz (alias Lizard971), who is sitting in a sleepless stupor waiting for this story LOL ;) - Hope you like it, bud!

Six chapters in all, from John, Dean and Sammy's POV's – enjoy :)

Thanks as always to my absolutely awesome betas, Phoebe and Amarintha, who are my support team along with Muffy and Fwennie. Without their cheerleading, I'd still be looking at a blank page :)

Pre-series – Sammy is 16, Dean 20.

**Warning:** Rated T for Bad language

**John's POV**

* * *

"Hold on, kiddo."

The gurney bumps across the threshold into the 24 hour emergency clinic before we start rushing down the short passage, my heart beating in my throat.

"John?"

I look up into the all too familiar face of the doctor on duty as he runs next to us. Doctor … um … shit, I can't remember his name.

"Doctor Phillips, patched up that friend of yours a few months back."

I can only nod. I remember him, and he obviously recognises me. This little clinic is one of the very few across the States that caters to hunters and our unique array of injuries. And tonight it's full.

"Okay, what have we got?"

The tech**,** who helped us move Dean out of the truck and onto the gurney, answers him.

"Male, late teens, laceration to the neck, possible arterial bleed, blood pressure's eighty over fifty, pulse weak and thready."

"Right, let's get him into the ER, and pull the curtains closed for some privacy, place is a mad house tonight!"

The ER already has two patients and I watch irritably as the orderly and nurses clear out an area at the end of the room, making space for Dean.

"Hang in there, kiddo."

My voice breaks as I look down at my boy's unfocused eyes; my shaky hand is staunching the thick flow of blood from his neck, Sammy standing next to him on the other side, his hand clasping Dean's.

"Hold on**,** Dean, we're here! We're here!"

Sammy is almost as pale as Dean, covered in blood, but thank god, not his own. There's blood everywhere, on Sam, on me, soaking Dean's shirt as it pumps rhythmically from beneath and between my slippery fingers, fighting its way past the firm pressure I have over the artery.

They finally manoeuvre us into the room, the nurse pushing me aside as she takes over the job of applying pressure to the wound. Dean groans, gasping for breath, Sam quickly leans forward, whispering something into his ear. Dean seems to settle a bit after that and I watch nervously as the Doc shines a small flashlight into his eyes, looking at the pupil reaction.

"Kid, can you hear me?"

Dean swallows before coughing weakly, eyes rolling between half closed lids, pain making his brow furrow. God, I wish they'd give him something. He's hurting. I try to get the Doc's attention.

"He's been out of it like this for the last fifteen minutes or so."

The nurse cuts up and along the front of Dean's bloodied shirt and t-shirt, opening it up, before the doctor starts listening to his breath sounds through a stethoscope.

"Look at me, son, do you know where you are?"

I take a step forward, but the activity surrounding him holds me at bay. They've already got an IV in him; the bag of Ringers catches my eye, swinging every time the stand is jostled. The kid seems to be fighting his way back to consciousness, but not really succeeding.

"Nnnh …"

The doctor turns his attention to the wound, jagged edges of flesh hanging loosely from the soft skin near his throat. I have the sudden urge to throw up, the back of my hand moving to my mouth. And then I see it again, all the blood, I'm covered in my boy's blood, the smell of it nearly making me retch, but I swallow it down.

"What the hell got him?"

"Witch."

My voice is rough, and I cough to clear the tightness there.

"Since when do witches bite their victims?"

Sam moves over next to me, his eyes never leaving his brothers face, our arms touching, watching as they work frantically around Dean.

"Long story. Short, he was tying her up and she tore into his neck with her teeth."

"Holy crap."

I watch sickly as blood spurts from Dean's neck again, his body shaking from shock. Sam sinks down into one of the chairs behind us, but I keep my focus on Dean.

"Well, she did a good job of it. Looks like it nicked the carotid artery …"

Goddamnit, if I had only been a few seconds quicker. I sit down next to Sam then, my legs refusing to keep me up, clasping my hands together. Both of us looking on as the Doctor prods around the edges of the wound.

"Doesn't look like she damaged his trachea though, but we'll need to get him into the OR immediately, repair the injury."

He starts rattling off instructions to his team, before he returns his attention to me.

"Bites can be nasty, especially human ... well, part human bites. We'll put him on broad spectrum antibiotics."

I nod my consent, not trusting my voice.

Everything happens in a blur after that. They wheel Dean out of the room, and we follow the gurney out, catching Dean's arm, his ankle, whispering soft reassurances, trying to relay that we're here, that we'll wait. When he's finally pushed down into the small surgery, we can only look at each other, not sure what to do. The continued buzz of activity around us pushes us towards a little waiting area. We need to clean up, but neither of us has the strength, so we just sit down instead, waiting. Watching the clock.

Forms are eventually pushed into my hands. Hands caked with Dean's blood. The urge to puke is overwhelming. There's a restroom a few steps away and I get off as much as I can before I begin to fill in the forms, not bothering to lie, it's not necessary. They already have my details on file. Questions like, 'When did the patient have their last tetanus injection?' "Does the patient suffer from allergies?" blur before my suddenly moist eyes. I work through the pages systematically. It helps take my mind off what's happened tonight, even if only for a few minutes.

Sammy sits next to me in silence, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees. He's shaking slightly, the after effects of the adrenalin rush mixing with fear and worry. He's lost in thought, brooding, and shit, I really just want to grab hold of him, pull him into a hug and tell him that I'll fix this. Instead I frown, looking down at the blood, _oh god, this is all Dean's blood,_ still crusting on my clothes.

I lean back in the hard chair, just watching my youngest boy. He's growing fast. Kid is gonna be taller than Dean any day now. I grin at the thought. Dean's gonna be so pissed when that happens.

"You need a haircut, kiddo."

He looks back at me briefly, a tentative smile pulling at his lips, before he returns to staring intently at the carpeted floor.

I know Sam's mad at me. He always gets like this, especially if one of us gets hurt. I'm used to it, used to the silent treatment. He'll come around … eventually.

Two hours and forty five minutes later, we've both managed to clean up as best we can in the washroom, both of us standing in unison, as the Doc reappears. I notice that he's had time to change back into his white lab coat. He pulls up a chair, facing us, and indicates for us to sit down

"How is he?"

The words are barely a whisper.

"We stopped the bleed. It wasn't as bad as we initially thought. We've got him stitched up and on a drip with antibiotics. We went through three bags of blood during the surgery and he still needs more."

I nod my head, absently wiping my now clean hands on my blood stained jeans.

"We don't have enough plasma available on site, but we've called ahead …"

I interrupt him.

"I'm the same blood type. I can donate … and my youngest son, Sam …"

I look over at him, our eyes meeting as he nods his head quickly in agreement.

"… he is too. I'll fill in any extra necessary papers and consent forms."

"Okay, that will be great … it will help for now … we need to get his blood pressure up as soon as possible."

I swallow, still uncertain.

"So, he's okay?"

"He's stable, breathing on his own. Once his blood pressure stabilizes, and with a lot of rest, he should make a full recovery."

Sam huffs a sigh of relief, mirroring my own. I chuckle, patting him on the back and squeezing his shoulder, that tight knot of tension finally unwinding from my stomach. An hour later, we've each donated as much blood as is legally allowed, had a glass of OJ and eaten a few cookies. The Doc informs us that Dean should be out of recovery and into a room shortly, and another thirty minutes later, we move into his room just as the nurse finishes up. The kid looks like crap. Pale. Dark circles under his eyes. He's breathing oxygen through a tube in his nose and a huge dressing covers his neck. Dark red fluid drips from two IV bags, the tubes snaking down, one into each of Dean's arms.

I let my hand rest against his forehead for a second before brushing it through his short hair.

"Shit, dude, you gave us quiet a scare."

He doesn't hear me, he's still unconscious and probably drugged up to the gills.

"Is he really gonna be okay, Dad?"

Sam looks a bit green. I move him into the chair next to Dean's bed. He looks up at me, hopeful, his hand has somehow made its way back to Dean's wrist, and he's holding on for dear life.

"Yeah, I think so, he'll probably be a bit weak for a day or two, but knowing Dean, he'll be bitching non stop about it, so enjoy the peace while it lasts."

Sammy snorts in amusement, but the laughter doesn't reach his eyes as he stares at his sleeping brother with concern.

"We nearly lost him, Dad."

I clamp my hand behind Sam's neck, squeezing gently.

"I know, but we didn't … he's gonna be okay. We got him here in time."

Sam nods, swallowing back tears that I know he won't cry. He starts talking to Dean, urging him to get better soon, talking about random stuff, ragging his older brother for getting hurt in the first place.

"… ugliest chick I've ever seen, Dean. And she gave you a hicky of note. Love to see you talk your way out of that one …"

I'm nearly dozing off in the chair near the window when Dean groans, his eyes moving behind closed lids.

"Dad, he's waking up!"

I'm out of the chair in an instant, Sam still coaxing his brother.

"Dean? Can you hear me? Follow my voice, dude."

I move to stand next to the bed, watching as he blinks, unfocused green orbs roaming around the curtained off room, before settling on Sammy's face, then mine. He gives us a half smile, and it's the best thing I've seen all day.

"Hey kiddo, you with us? How you feeling?"

He frowns.

"Feel ... crap."

I grin.

"That's what I thought, told you not to flirt on the job."

Sam snorts, but Dean's voice is dry and raspy, and I lean over to lift him, carefully spooning a few ice chips into his mouth. He swallows painfully as I lay his head back down on the pillow.

"Bitch … took ... bite outta me, Dad."

"I know."

"God, hate witches."

Sam is still grinning, rubbing his hand up and down Dean's hand, before his brother gives him a look, the one where his eyebrow raises in amusement, and Sam instantly stops, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets.

I call Doctor Phillips, much to Dean's disgust, and he does a quick evaluation, checking readouts on the equipment.

"Looks good, at this rate you can go home tomorrow."

He smiles, adjusting the pain meds, which from the look on Dean's face, must be the good stuff. The relief I suddenly feel almost makes my knees weak again. It takes a full hour for the transfusion, Dean drifting in and out. More tests are sent to the lab, leaving the Doc happy enough with the Dean's blood oxygen readings to take him off the nose canella. I suddenly have an urgent need for strong black coffee. I leave the boys to chat, Sam filling Dean in on what happened, Dean still managing to beg me to bring him a cup too. _Fat chance, kiddo_.

I pour the strong brew into a Styrofoam cup, my mind working overtime, now that the danger has passed. Need to get on the road again; meet up with Franklin Stone, there's some demon activity I need to check out. I return to my boys, shit, they're gonna give me hell for this. I let Dean have a small sip of my coffee, he sighs happily, before I break the news.

"Guys, when you've finished with the chick flick stuff you've got going on over here," I wave my hand around in their direction, grinning at their combined looks of disgust, hoping to soften the blow**:** "There's a hunt up in Minnesota."

I look at Dean; his eyes have suddenly gone wide with panic. Goddamnit, here it comes.

"I'm gonna settle you and Sammy at Bobby's …"

"No, Dad …"

I hold up my hand to stop his protests. He groans. Loudly.

"It's just until you're feeling better."

"I'm feeling better, Dad."

To prove a point he starts pushing himself up. He's far too weak, but he's as stubborn as his old man. The only way to win this conversation is for him to see exactly why he needs a few days to recoup. I slide my arm behind his back, helping him to sit up, legs dangling off the side of the bed.

"Whoa, head rush."

"You're not ready yet, Dean, listen to Dad, you need to rest."

Sam has his hand on Dean's back. "You're hot."

"And don't you forget it. I can rest in the car."

"Okay, kiddo."

Sam moves over to me, anger written all over his face. "Dad? What the hell?"

"I can't stop him if he wants to come with; he just needs to walk to the door."

I look over at Dean again. I give the kid credit, he manages to push himself to his feet, one hand still trying valiantly to hold the airy hospital gown closed at the back. Sam starts forward, but I grab his arm, stopping him. He still tries to pull loose as Dean takes a step, the blood suddenly draining from his face. His startled green eyes meet mine for a second.

"Dad, I don't …"

He's swaying dangerously, and it's me who's suddenly moving, before I even register it.

"… don't feel …"

"DEAN?"

"… so … good …"

I lunge towards him, grabbing him as he collapses, taking his dead weight, as we both sag to the floor.

"DEAN?"

He's out cold, head falling back against my arm, pale and sweating.

Sam has already rushed out to find help. I ignore the names I heard him calling me under his breath.

I shift, lifting my boy up into my arms and settling him back onto the bed, just as the Doctor rushes in with Sam a few seconds later. We both get ushered out of the room, Sam suddenly pushing at me, forcing me to take a step back.

"What the hell was that, Dad? What were you thinking? He's hurt, he's fucking hurt!"

Sam pushes at me again and I feel my temper rising.

"It wasn't twelve hours ago that we nearly lost him! He was bleeding out, Dad, and I thought … god, there was so much blood ... and then you …"

He starts hammering his fists on my chest then, and I grab them, wanting to shake him, but instead pulling him close as he bursts into tears. I wrap my arms around him, letting him cry. Letting him vent out his pain and frustrations into my shoulder.

"It's okay, I won't let anything happen to him, you know that, Sam. You know that."

He sobs, heart broken, and I hold onto him, letting my lips brush against the top of his head for the briefest second, but he quickly pulls away as the Doctor comes out of Dean's room.

I swipe my hand across my stubbled jaw.

"How's he doing, Doc?"

The look on the Doctors face nearly stops my heart.

"He's, um … he's spiking a fever …"

I look at him dumbfounded, what the hell's he talking about?

"I just got the blood tests results back, and there's … there's something wrong."

Sam's desperate, "No!" follows him as he pushes his way back into Dean's room.

"What do you mean, something's wrong? What did the test results say?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, before looking up, our eyes locking.

"We've picked up an anomaly in his blood, from what we can see so far, it looks toxic."

I move over to a chair, sitting down heavily.

"You think it's the witch, you think she injected him with some sort of poison?"

"It's hard to say, could be … could also just be an infection."

But I killed her. God, don't tell me this is how she gets her revenge? I need to get back out there and find out what she did.

"We'll have to run some more tests to be sure."

I look up at him, he's been talking but I haven't been listening, I just nod, not knowing what to say, only knowing for certain that I need to get back out there, need to make sure that she didn't hex him … and shit, if she poisoned him … with what? Where the hell do I even start?

I move back into Dean's room. He's asleep, or unconscious, god, I don't want to think which. I need to fix this. I need to …

"Stay with your brother Sam!"

"Where are you going?"

I let my hand brush over Dean's flushed face, my thumb smoothing the line across his eyebrow. He's burning up. I have to go.

"I need answers, Sam. I'm gonna go out there and find one of those bitches, I don't know where, but I'll phone around, someone must know. When I do, I'm gonna wring every bit of information I can out of her. And if she doesn't give me what I'm looking for … then …"

I can feel myself shaking in fury, but I need to keep it together for Sam's sake.

"No, Dad! Don't leave me here. What if it's not the witch? What if he gets worse?"

His words rip at my heart, but just sitting here won't do us any good. I need to find out what she did to my boy, find out what kind of poison we're dealing with here.

"Dean needs you!"

Fuck. He's using those goddamn puppy eyes.

"Just call me."

I can feel the daggers Sam's eyes are shooting at me as I rub my hands over my tired face.

"Damnit, Sam, I don't want to leave, but I have no choice."

"Yes you do, Dad … you do … but you always make the wrong one!"

His voice is soft, resigned, tired, filled with … hate? and it tears at my heart. God, I don't have time for this now. I turn quickly, big strides pushing me forward, taking me through the swishing doors of the clinic. I don't dare look back at my youngest son, I don't want to see that hatred, the goddamn disappointment in his eyes.

I slide into my truck, slamming the door, taking a deep, steadying breath. Need to pull my damn shit together. I manage to fish my cell phone out of my jacket pocket, wearily punching in Singer's number. He answers after the second ring. Sighing, I listen to him bitch at me for being a 'stupid, selfish, sonnavabitch', but he still agrees to make his way to Alliance, take care of Sammy for me, keep an eye on Dean. He also helps me with a possible lead before cutting me off with his usual goodbye of, 'you asshole'.

I stuff the phone back into my pocket, my hands coming up to grip the well worn leather of the steering wheel, knuckles white, before I rev the engine to life and high tail it out of the parking lot. I hit the main road five minutes later, leaving Nebraska in my wake. The headlights lead the way to my next hunt, and I lay out my next game plan, letting it replay over and over in my head.

There won't be any mistakes this time. I'm gonna find one of those fucking crones, and so help me, if anything happens to my son ... every single one of those bitches will die.

* * *

_**TBC**_


End file.
